


Silver Threads

by TheFlirtMeister



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, Outdated Terms, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 23:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11724954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlirtMeister/pseuds/TheFlirtMeister
Summary: George falls, and the blood is scarce, and Peter sees the silver threads in the air of what could have been. [Alternate Universe]





	Silver Threads

**Author's Note:**

> I know I made fun of Dunkirk fic, but I haven't been able to get George whimpering at the bottom of the boat out of my head for weeks, so I had to write this.

There is a fight, and everyone is somehow too young to understand this war, even Mr Dawson, who saw the Titanic go down. There are struggles, and the gun changes hand three times, before the shivering soldier shoves everyone away from him.

George falls, and the blood is scarce, and Peter sees the silver threads in the air of what could have been.

-

Peter doesn't know how long he sits in the belly of the boat, George's head in his hands. His fingers are sticky with blood, and he keeps staring down at George's face. They keep accidentally making direct eye contact, and then looking away, like school boys.

They are school boys.

“Am I going to die?” George asks, and his lips are dry.

“Course not.” Peter says, and strokes the spot between George's eyebrows with his finger tips. “It's only a scratch.”

“It hurts.”

“You fell a long way.”

“Still.” George says, and looks up at Peter. “Guess I'm another casualty.”

“Quiet.” Peter says, and they sit there until his father yells that there's somebody in the water.

-

Collins inspects George's wound, picks a splinter out of George's hair, and then slaps him on the back.

“He'll live.” He says, “Unlike those poor buggers out there.”

“Ow.” George says, and goes back to lying down. His head is woozy.

“How'd he fall?” Collins asks, and Peter sits down beside George.

“Tripped.” He says, which is easier than saying 'pushed'. “Never was steady on his feet.”

“I have _ears_.” George complains, and Peter grins and lightly touches them.

“Yeah, big ones at that.” He says, and George attempts to punch him and misses.

Collins rolls his eyes, as if they're all idiots, and goes back upstairs to help Mr Dawson.

“He's nice.” George says.

“I cracked open his cockpit.” Peter says, “Like a boiled egg.”

“My head feels like a boiled egg.” George says.

“Don't tell any of the people we're bringing home that.” Peter says, nudging him. “They'll try and eat you.”

George laughs, and Peter laughs with him.

-

Peter drags the men from they sea, and they all stand around on the boat, looking like startled birds. They're all slick with black tar, and the only white that can be seen is their widened eyes.

Mr Dawson sends them down to the lower deck, and George finds himself being gently pushed to the side, rolled over like dog that is hogging the space by the fire.

“Oi.” He says, and a boy, barely older than him, stares down at him.

“I thought you were dead.” He says.

"I'm dying." George says, looking at the ceiling. There's a fat spider spinning a web and he wonders if they'll eat it if rations run out.

"No you're not." The boy says, "Men shit themselves when they die. And you smell of washing powder, and your mother's cooking.”

George sticks out his tongue in defiance. The boy sticks his out too. They grin at each other.

Peter appears at the top of the stairs, tar on his jumper. “Be careful with him!” He says, and George and the boy look up.

“I'm fine.” George promises, and hopes Peter can get that stain out of his jumper.

-

Most of the soldiers come to the boat deck to watch England's cliffs come into view. George finds his legs aren't working, so they prop him up against Peter. It feels safe, and Peter tucks his arm tight around George to keep him sturdy.

“Home.” A boy says.

It's echoed around the deck like a flock of seagulls. Collins stands at Peter's right, fiddling with his uniform.

“I was only here a few weeks ago.” He says, “It's nothing special.”

He stares greedily at the cliffs all the same, and Peter admires his profile. He can feel George's heartbeat underneath his shirt, and he pulls George closer.

“I wasn't slipping.” George insists, and leans against Peter.

"They're saying it's the war to end all wars." Peter says, looking out England.

"They said that about the last one." Mr Dawson says tiredly, and looks up at the sky.

-

When they reach land, George is taken away to hospital, a posh one up in London. Peter waits by the telephone every hour of the day, waiting for the phone call that tells him sorry, but there was nothing to be done.

“I know you're close.” His mother starts, smoothing back his hair. “But-”

“Please.” Peter says, and wishes he could play with the rotary dial without accidentally calling anyone. “Don't.”

“Okay.” She says, and kisses his forehead. “My brave, brave boy.”

Peter thinks of his brother, and he knows his mother is too. There's a photograph of him on the mantelpiece in his RAF uniform, looking handsome. There are so many photographs like that.

-

George comes home a week later with his head in bandages. Peter meets him from the train, running at him like a girl in one of those awful romance flicks that his mother watches at the pictures.

They hug earnestly, like George has been missing for months. His clothes smell of mothballs, and Peter buries his face into George's shoulder.

“I'll always slur my words.” George says. “And I'll always walk funny. But that's alright, isn't it?”

“Of course.” Peter says, because it is. He hugs George tighter, rocking him back and forth in his arms, and doesn't say anything when he feels George's tears drip onto him.

-

“Our picture was in the paper.” Peter says, in George's room, sitting on George's bed. Everyone else is out, George's father at work, and his mother is at her sister's.

“Really?” George asks, sounding thrilled.

“I saved you a copy.” Peter says, and pulls the picture that he clipped out from his back pocket. “They used your school photograph. And mine.”

“I look like a square.” George complains, taking the picture from Peter. “I can't believe you cut this out.”

“Why?” Peter asks.

“Are you going to put me in a locket?” George asks, eyes twinkling. “Keep me close to your heart?”

Peter shrugs. George looks at him, and smiles. They're too close.

Peter isn't quite sure how his hand finds its way up George's shirt, but it does. He can feel George's warm skin against his palm, a sign that George is alive, and well, and close enough to touch.

George leans in, and Peter meets him halfway.

-

Mr Dawson is reading when Peter edges his way into the room. It's still, the only sound being the turning of pages, and the tick of the clock on the wall.

“What are you reading?” Peter asks.

“A book about Henry the Eighth.” His father replies, and licks his finger to turn the page.

“I have to tell you something.” Peter says. Mr Dawson looks up at him.

“George and I-” Peter starts, and then stops. “We-”

“I think.” His father interrupts. “That with all this death going on at the moment, that it's nice to have a little more love in the world, don't you?”

Peter stops. And thinks.

“Yes.” He says, and his father smiles at him, and then continues to read.

-

They lie in bed together, and listen to the planes overhead. It is very hard to forget that there's still a war on, no matter how much everyone else tries.

"Do you think there are people like us in Germany?" Peter asks, outlining George's features with his finger. He has decided that he loves George with all of his entire heart.

"I think there are people like us everywhere." George murmurs.

“Even Nazi's?” Peter asks.

George pauses. “I think so.” He says. “I wouldn't like to meet any of them though.”

“Don't leave me for a jerry.” Peter says, smiling, and George laughs and presses their mouths together.

-

On the 3rd of September, 1945, Peter and George sit in the garden with the radio off, and drink. It's the end of the war, and the air is sweet. George's brother is coming home soon, and his sister will be back from nursing.

Peter's parents are at home, crying for their son that won't come back.

“There are flats that are empty in London.” George says. “I heard about them.”

Peter looks over at him. “You want to move?”

“I don't like being by the sea.” George says, casting an eye towards its general direction. “I want to be in the city.”

“Your parents will fit.”

“I don't care.” George says, and takes hold of Peter's hand. “Come with me?”

They both know that Peter would never say no.

-

"People will talk." George's mother says when George tells her they're moving out. A flat in Vauxhall, with only one bedroom. She's standing at the kitchen sink and she looks so tired.

"I know." George says, "But we're going to say Peter is my caretaker, and that-"

She bursts into tears and George falls silent.

"You don't need a caretaker." She says, "You're fine!"

"I'm not!" George exclaims, "Both physically or mentally!"

"You're my son!" She makes to take a step forward and then reconsiders. "I should be taking care of you."

"I have Peter now." George says, and she cries harder.

-

A couple of days before they move, they go up to the war registry. George wants to tell the shivering soldier that he's okay, that there was one less murder in the world that day. It's a cold blustery day, and they wrap up well, in hats and scarves and coats, until you cannot tell they are two men at all.

There's a woman at the front desk, biting the end of her pen as she listens to Churchill on the radio. Peter and George wait for the address to finish before they speak, leaning up against the desk and listening to Churchill's polished voice as he talks about his political defeat. The people want a new man for a new era.

“Can I help you?” The woman asks, when the broadcast ends.

Peter gives the name and regiment of the man they're looking for, and there's a pause as the woman runs down her register. She stops and then looks up at them both, fiddling with the glasses on a chain around her neck.

"I'm sorry," She says, "He shot himself a month after he came home from Dunkirk.”

“Oh.” George says, and there's no surprise in his voice at all.

-

Their neighbours on the left are a coloured couple, who they nod at every time they pass in the stairwell. The woman hangs her washing out on the balcony, and George sits outside when he needs fresh air and looks at all the pretty colours.

They meet in the corridor a few weeks after they move in, the woman holding her swollen belly.

"Are you pregnant?" Peter asks and the woman laughs, showing all her teeth.

"I haven't swallowed a beach ball, boy." She says, and Peter flushes.

Their neighbour on the right is a wiry man who won't look them in the eye. He always wears grey, and keeps to himself, and never seems to go out on Friday nights.

"Do you think he knows we were at Dunkirk?" Peter asks after a uncomfortable meeting on the stairs.

"More likely that he's figured we're living in sin." George says and he watches realisation cross Peter's face. "Did you forget we were homosexuals?"

"Yes." Peter admits sheepishly, and George cuffs him on the head.

“I'm the one with brain damage.” He says, and Peter kisses him right in the middle of the corridor, where anyone could see.

-

“I bought you something.” George says one day, coming home after being sent out to buy only a newspaper.

“Oh god, what is it?” Peter asks, and George tosses the newspaper at him, before placing a vinyl on the table.

“A new band.” He says, “Apparently they're really good.”

“Oh?” Peter says, looking at the headlines. Three men have been arrested and sent to prison for sodomy. Peter turns the page so he can't read the article.

“They're called The Insects, or something.” George says, putting the vinyl onto the record player and fiddling with the needle until it starts to play, all scratchy.

“You can't really dance to it.” Peter says, and George sticks out his hand.

“Sure we can.” He says, and hauls Peter up. “Come on!”

-

There's a power cut one night, nothing unusual, but they've run out of candles. Peter searches all the drawers, scrabbling around at the back of them in case one has rolled away, but comes up with nothing.

“We can't sit in darkness the whole evening.” He says.

“We could go to bed?” George suggests. “To sleep, I mean.”

“It's too early for sleep.” Peter says, and sighs. “I'll ask next door if they've got anything.”

“The couple have gone away, remember?” George says. “They're at her brother's for the weekend.”

“Shit.” Peter swears. “I'll have to go to misery guts.”

“Do you think he'll give you anything?”

“Probably not.” Peter says, and shrugs on his coat. “Worth a shot though?”

-

The man next door lets Peter in, still not looking Peter in the eye. His house is cold, but bright with light, candles dotted all over the place. Peter looks about, quietly, and sits down on the sofa when asked.

“Lots of candles.” He says, as the man finds some unlit ones for Peter to take home.

“It's Shabbat.” The man replies, and hands over two candle sticks.

“What's that?” Peter asks, and the man sighs. His sleeves are rolled up for once, and Peter can see the numbers.

“The holy day.” The man says, and then sighs, looking up at the heavens. “What is there to be holy any more though?”

“I'm sorry.” Peter says, because he doesn't know what else to say. “I survived Dunkirk.”

“With,” The man waves his arm, “The boy? Your friend?”

“Yes.” Peter says, thinking of his nightmares where George cannot see. There's silence. “I'll buy you some more candles.”

-

“What do you think it will be like, in the future?” Peter asks, one night in bed. George is almost asleep, barely snoring.

“Motorcars will fly.” George mumbles, and Peter smiles.

“I meant for us?”

George raises, and then lowers one shoulder. “I hope.... I hope we'll be like everybody else.”

“How?” Peter asks, feeling his eyes begin to grow heavy.

“Marriage.” George says, in a whisper. “Children. Those things.”

“How nice.” Peter says, and means it so thoroughly that it hurts.

They fall asleep in each other's arms.

 


End file.
